Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

"Alfred Kirkland?"

The blond's head snapped up, hastily shoving his cell phone into the kangaroo pocket of his hooded pullover. He had been blatantly texting rather than paying attention, obvious from his guilt-ridden expression and wide cerulean eyes. When his teacher was lacking the "way too cheerful to be happy" face, he visibly relaxed. Mr. Braginsky only had his regular creepy smile, meaning he most likely was not in trouble. Adjusting his glasses, he sauntered to the front of the room by means of an aisle between two rows of desks. While Algebra II was by no means his most confident class (as you all already know), football and baseball star Alfred F. Jones-the "Jones" came from his football team when another player compared him to Thomas Jones, fellow running back-would show no fear, even in the face of math and his creepy Russian teacher!

"The guidance office has called you. Try not to miss too much of class; judging by your grades you will need it, yes?" he subtly taunted, almost violet eyes looking down at him like a pampered house cat would a scrawny, dirty mouse. Alfred grunted his accord-he absolutely abhorred that man, and was convinced that his feelings were mutual-then shuffled out into the wide, empty hallway.

However, he would admit that the Commie had been right about one thing; his marks in math were seriously lacking. While he had never really been fond of it or the teacher of the class, something else completely unrelated had been nagging at him. For as long as he could remember, it had been just his dad and he; no siblings or mother to speak of. Alfred never dared to ask either, because if the British man didn't bring it up himself it was obviously an off-limits conversation. He'd had something of a flashback, though, when he'd laid his eyes on a mother-son duo one day. Alfred had been simply eating an ice cream cone-Neapolitan, for your information-, leaning casually and suavely against the side of a building downtown when they walked by.

They were a rather attractive pair, he noticed, with the same wavy tresses. The woman, who had this air of haughtiness around her, had a slightly darker shade of hair than the boy. He seemed like a meek little kid inside, though Alfred pinned him as about the same age as himself. What struck him were the similarities between the three of them. His hair had to have been about the same shade, if not a bit more on the "strawberry blond" side but even more surprising were their identical eye colors. Unfortunately, by the time he'd realized this, they were gone.

Alfred's interest had been piqued; they hadn't only been analogous, but they'd also made him think. It was almost as if he'd seen them somewhere before, a long time ago. As much as he wracked his brain over that Neapolitan cone, however, nothing came to him.

For a week after, they'd been totally driven from his mind. Not until later did they begin to appear in his dreams. In the early ones, he and the other boy were children-no older than five-and they simply played together while both Arthur and the mysterious woman looked on. His child-self had always strained to hear the two strangers' voices, but every time their lips moved, nothing came out.

The next dreams were on the more depressing side, contrasting the happy "memories" that were the old ones. Alfred, now his current age in the dreams, had clung to the other boy as they witnessed the various arguments and fights between the woman and his father. Like the previous ones, he was only able to hear Arthur's voice. It was always some kind of variation of,

"You're a bloody child, Frances! You're not fit to be a mother; good parents are willing to put their children above everything else, even themselves! Allow me custody of both Alfred and Matthew-"

The woman-"Frances," Alfred assumed-cut him off, shouting with tears in her eyes. He couldn't hear her, but he pitied her. He was convinced that she couldn't be as horrible as Arthur made her out to be. His father was known for exaggerating-another thing he'd inherited.

The final series of dreams were sad, but what was more notable was the confusion they created. "Matthew," the other boy he guessed, and Frances would just stand before him and mouth at him. Alfred would try to communicate right back, but it seemed like the shy boy opposite him had the same deaf-issues as he did. The woman definitely understood, though; tears welled up in her eyes by simply looking upon Alfred. With her tears came daylight, however, and Alfred would be forced to awake for school.

These dreams had suddenly stopped, though, after only a month of the "visions." He wasn't complaining; they danced around in his head throughout the entire day, distracting and thoroughly stressing him out. One reason they bothered him so was because Alfred felt that his father was involved as well. Afraid of the possible repercussions, however, he never mentioned these occurrences or even the day that had sparked it all.

Still, he couldn't help but feel some kind of connection to these two people. But who were they?

"Alfred Kirkland?"

Said teen shook himself from the minor daydream to find himself in the guidance office already. Did he really know the school so well that he could navigate through it during moments of subconsciousness? Alfred, ever the humble one, couldn't help but find that awesome.

"Yeah?" he asked, addressing the pretty secretary with short, curly blond hair.

"Your father just called, and I thought it would be best to inform you now." He felt a minor wave of panic surge through him. What had his father done? Alfred nodded, urging her to finish. "He's set you up with a tutor for Algebra every day after school. Your tutor will be waiting for you in the library at three o'clock." Even with the sweet way she spoke, the boy's face fell. Arthur had been completely serious with that "tutor" threat.

Noticing his disappointment, the kind secretary piped in again, "Kiku is an excellent student and a wonderful teacher, even for a tenth grader. Very cute, too." She let out a little titter at the slight flush in the blond's cheeks as he abruptly stormed from the office.

The dark haired teen played with his hands nervously as he waited. He wondered if his "student" was going to show up at all after glancing at the analog clock on the far wall of the library. Kiku had been waiting for a good ten minutes, and tardiness was not something he appreciated. Had he not been getting credit for his "volunteered" services (he was often pressured and/or begged into acting as a tutor), he would have been safe at home already. He wasn't afraid of the boy he was to assist, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't a bit intimidated.

Alfred Kirkland wasn't only a whole year and grade above him, but he was also impossibly popular, radically different than Kiku's own predicament. The little attention he got at school was from two seniors, Sadiq and Heracles, who often fought over him. Needless to say, they made the poor kid uncomfortable and forced him to occasionally sit with the strange German-Italian duo.

To put it simply, reputation wasn't his focus in school. He wouldn't be surprised if Alfred had never even seen, let alone heard of him. Though Kiku had no antipathy for the "popular" crowd, he wouldn't be surprised if he, just some nobody, was stood up by the surely busy athlete.

"Hey...Are you Kiku?" a loud, out of breath voice asked from behind him. The Japanese sophomore turned, instinctively scrutinizing Alfred. His tie was slack, hanging loosely around his collar, his white dress shirt was untucked, and instead of the code blazer, the blond wore an old-looking bomber jacket.

"Yes. And...it's fine, but you're late." he replied a bit tersely, yet with some apprehension. He had to be firm with such an underachieving student-he'd been allowed to see the junior's report card-but to protect his own well-being, choose his words carefully.

"Sorry, man. I completely forgot so I had to run all the way from the buses and stuff, and-"

"It's alright, Kirkland." Kiku interjected as he took a seat; he was not going to waste time listening to that silly excuse story. He knew that the other had no wish to be there, as the Belgian secretary had warned him.

Alfred found that she had right about his tutor, though. He didn't normally have "male preferences," but the little Asian boy was nice to look at. That neat, ebony hair was shiny and likely soft, the blond's impulses pressuring him to just reach out and feel it quickly. Thinking quickly-which he only did when flirting or playing sports-, he ran a hand through the short, silky locks.

"D-do you mind-"

"There was just a little cotton fuzzy in your hair, chill out." he grinned, joining his new tutor at the small wooden table. They were in one of the more secluded areas of the library near the documentary and biography section. In other words, where few people would bother them. Each found this advantageous; Kiku picked it so there would be no distractions, but Alfred for a different reason altogether.

The younger male tried to will away the blush on his cheeks-one that his student found endearing-as he took out the material. He raised a thin eyebrow at the groan of disappointment released from the athletic junior. "I-is there a problem, Kirkland?"

"I don't like this subject. Can't we do history or something? I'd love to learn yours." he snickered a bit at the flustered reaction, propping up his head with a palm as he leaned in. Afraid to seem rude, Kiku didn't move and tried to disregard the ridiculously bad "pick-up" line. With a curt shake of his head, the tutor flipped to the appropriate page in the heavy textbook.

"I was just kidding, c'mon, get a sense of hu-"

"Please try to be serious, Kirkland. The sooner you focus, the sooner we can both leave."

With a sigh, he complied-though not after brushing his hand against the smaller, pale one when trading off the pencil. Kiku slapped his upper arm lightly, threatening him with extra work if he tried to pull anything else.

Alfred would have liked this whole "tutoring" deal much better without the math.

IDK how I did on Kiku's personality, considering it's 2 AM. ;

Anyways...MORE BACKGROUND. Is stuff starting to come together? O: *gasp*

Yeah, it may seem like two different stories within one, but they do kind of "build" off of each other. (Like, how he has to have a tutor because those two "strangers" distract him. x: )

Next chapter will probably be sometime next/this week.

RUSSIAN MATH TEACHERS ARE EVIL. Beware of them. xD JK. Never had one.

There IS a reason why Alfred likes being called "Jones". xDD FOOTBALL. It's the answer to all. (Not really)

So yeah, Alfred suddenly decided he was gay. x| Got a problem with that? Okay. He didn't "suddenly". Maybe he was just bi before or whatever...IDK it doesn't matter this is AMERIPAN. *shot for not making sense*